


Mr. & Mr. Lee

by dopaminekeeper



Category: The Boyz (Korea Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Mr. & Mrs. Smith Fusion, Alternate Universe - Spies & Secret Agents, Anal Sex, Blood and Injury, Bottom Hyunjae, Fist Fights, M/M, Top Sangyeon, Violence, minor daddy kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-20
Updated: 2020-09-20
Packaged: 2021-03-07 23:33:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,705
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26555902
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dopaminekeeper/pseuds/dopaminekeeper
Summary: eight years of marriage and it turns out you don't knowshitabout each other
Relationships: Lee Jaehyun | Hyunjae/Lee Sangyeon
Comments: 16
Kudos: 104





	Mr. & Mr. Lee

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. the stealer teasers have thrown my brain into full overdrive. i cannot rest  
> 2\. mr and mrs smith is the sexiest movie ever made. this is just the fight scene from that movie. i also stole some dialogue, big media please dont sue me
> 
> content warnings: blood, explicit violence, use of guns (no one is shot)

A tango, a twist, two steps to the right and they’re careening through their once-familiar house, every corner thrown into stark shadows by the moonlight.

Jaehyun spins into a wild kick and registers, faintly, that he’s just smashed the lamp that he and Sangyeon had spent two full hours arguing over in a home goods store, before Sangyeon smashes his elbow into the plaster just shy of Jaehyun’s skull, sending his thoughts scattering.

Instinct moves him — Sangyeon was wearing a tie, he thinks, grabbing for it blindly — and he manages to smash his husband into the already-dented wall. It affords him a precious couple of seconds to dart into the kitchen, gather his bearings.

Sangyeon’s heavy footsteps, and he grabs the first thing he sees — a casserole dish from Mrs. Kim’s funeral last week and which Sangyeon had guilt-tripped him for missing. He waits until Sangyeon’s in range, and notices that he’s favoring his left side — the ceramic smashes over his shoulder in a satisfying crunch, but doesn’t bring him down. _Fuck._

Sangyeon grunts and manages to grab him bodily, strong hands digging into his shoulder and hip. He sends Jaehyun flying across the counter, nearly cracking his ribs if not for Jaehyun quickly course-correcting and rolling on his forearms. There’s too much momentum, though, he doesn’t have control, and he goes sprawling across the living room floor. He thinks his ankle might be sprained, but he’s not sure. He can work through the pain.

He crawls towards the coffee table (yet another multiple-hour standoff at the home goods store), pretending at injury to hopefully slow Sangyeon’s approach. He can hear Sangyeon step closer, can _hear_ his low chuckle — maybe it’s the adrenaline, but _fuck_ him if it doesn’t send a shiver through Jaehyun’s body.

Jaehyun’s fingertips brush the stained glass ornament that sits on the coffee table. _Bingo._

“Come on, honey.” Sangyeon’s probably wearing that smug fucking smile. “Come to daddy.”

_Bastard._

Jaehyun hooks his fingers in the base of the tchotchke and swings it up and around like a shot put, clocking Sangyeon in the head and sending glass shattering everywhere. It knocks him off-kilter long enough that Jaehyun can grab his shoulders, pull him down so Jaehyun’s knee connects with his solar plexus, and send him flying into the wall.

Looking at Sangyeon lying there, bloodied and disoriented, Jaehyun experiences a sort of grand catharsis. He’s utterly unable to resist:

“Who’s your daddy now?”

They breathe together — in, out, in — and then Sangyeon’s lunging and Jaehyun’s bracing and they go tumbling, knocking over the couch with their momentum. Jaehyun’s not afraid to play dirty, sinking his teeth into Sangyeon’s arm when it wraps around his shoulders, biting until the skin splits and his husband lets go with a strangled yell.

It’s messy and primal, blood on their faces and soaked into their skin, running on adrenaline and instinct and the desire to survive, to subdue. Jaehyun spins, manages to hook his arms around Sangyeon’s neck and hang off his back until Sangyeon growls and lets himself drop, the impact rattling Jaehyun’s teeth in his skull.

A hand pulls his hair, the impact of a knee to his hip, pain radiating from a myriad of distinct points in his body until it blurs into one throbbing signal. Running on instinct and fury, Jaehyun wraps his legs around Sangyeon’s hips, managing to pin him to the floor and get a couple good punches in on his sharp, pretty cheekbones.

_Pretty._ Even when Jaehyun was on the verge of leaving, when he hated Sangyeon’s guts and the house felt more like a prison, Sangyeon would look at him and always managed to be _pretty._

Jaehyun gets in one last satisfying, crunching left hook before rolling off and toward the pistol he has stashed in the flowerpot next to the fireplace.

He turns back and Sangyeon’s pointing a matching pistol at him. Stalemate. _Fucker._

“Fucker,” he spits, forcing down the tremble in his fingers. “I should kill you.”

There’s a moment of tense silence in which Jaehyun can practically _see_ the ice melting from Sangyeon’s eyes. Slowly, ever so slowly, he lowers his gun. The click of the safety going back on is deafening in the quiet room.

“Then do it,” Sangyeon says, dropping the pistol. “Shoot me, Jae. You can leave and tell them it’s over.”

Jaehyun sees red. He sees a future with Sangyeon dead on the floor, bullet in his head and this house, this _life_ , in Jaehyun’s rearview mirror for good. He sees something empty.

A scream tears its way out of Jaehyun’s throat. He flips the safety back on the pistol and throws it across the room. It slides under a bookcase.

Sangyeon stares, blood dripping from a cut on his forehead, mouth pressed into a thin line, just... waiting.

“I hate you,” Jaehyun whispers. He wants to say it like he means it. “I _hate_ you.”

“I know, baby.”

The kiss isn’t like a movie, not glossy or choreographed. It’s violent and bloody, full of teeth and desperation and fear. Lust, most of all. Fighting has always made the both of them horny as hell, even when it wasn’t physical.

“Are we, ah, done trying to kill each other?” Sangyeon pants, hands burning-hot on Jaehyun’s waist even through the remnants of his dress shirt. “I really wanna be done with that.”

“I hate you,” is all Jaehyun manages in response, jumping up and hooking his legs around Sangyeon’s hips, firm in the knowledge that Sangyeon will catch him. He groans shamelessly when Sangyeon’s fingers dig into the bruised, aching undersides of his thighs. Sangyeon laughs a little, ragged and pained.

“ _Fuck._ Love you too, baby.”

It’s a miracle they make it to their bedroom at all for the number of times they stop to kiss furiously against the walls, on the stairs, with the bedroom door against Jaehyun’s back and Sangyeon’s waist clenched tight between his legs. _God._ He hasn’t felt like this in _years,_ hasn’t felt this kind of hunger or need in the pit of his stomach. He feels like he did when he was twenty-two and catching sight of Sangyeon for the first time, rain-soaked and grinning in the Colombian heat and —

He bites down hard on the side of Sangyeon’s throat, frantic for something to ground him to the here-and-now. Sangyeon shudders and growls with the pain, shoving his back harder into the wood of the door.

“Jesus, baby,” he grits out, “take it easy.”

“You don’t mean that,” Jaehyun breathes with a savage smile on his lips, raking nails down the back of Sangyeon’s neck. He’s suddenly desperate to know how far he can push this new thing between them now that everything is out in the open. Now that Sangyeon knows he won’t break, now that Jaehyun doesn’t have to hold anything back.

He laughs when Sangyeon throws him onto the bed so hard his teeth rattle in his skull.

“Come on, _daddy,”_ he grins, laying himself out and smearing red on their disgustingly expensive, pristine white percale sheets.

_“Jaehyun,”_ Sangyeon warns, stripping off his bloodied shirt, revealing all the places the broken glass sliced into his pretty torso. Jaehyun wants to dig his fingers in.

He revels in it when Sangyeon presses him into the mattress, surrounding him in the overwhelming scent of sweat and adrenaline and the tang of iron. Jaehyun gives as good as he gets, drags his nails down Sangyeon’s broad back and bites sharp at his husband’s bottom lip.

“Are you going to take all night,” Jaehyun demands, breathless and so, _so_ hard, “or are you gonna fuck me like you _mean_ it?”

He fists Sangyeon’s hair, lets out a hoarse laugh when Sangyeon’s broad hand wraps around his throat. _That’s better,_ he tries to say, but Sangyeon’s holding him too tight. He could kill Jaehyun so easily like this, and isn’t that just _thrilling?_

Sangyeon rummages in the side table for their lube, where it’s been for the last eight years and untouched for _months._ Jaehyun shoves his shoes off, wriggles out of his pants and winces at the twinge in his ankle when he bends his foot. A satisfied little sounds escapes him when Sangyeon flips him over and pulls his hips up, exposing him easily.

Slick fingers at his entrance, and Jaehyun groans in frustration.

“Come on, _fuck_ me,” he demands, slapping Sangyeon’s hand away, glaring over his shoulder. “I don’t want your fucking _fingers_ , ‘yeon.”

“Baby —”

“Don’t _‘baby’_ me.” Jaehyun scrambles out from under Sangyeon, pushing at his shoulders until Sangyeon gives in and lets Jaehyun straddle him. “Get your dick out.”

He wastes no time slicking up Sangyeon’s cock, lining himself up and sinking down slowly, millimeter by excruciating millimeter. He wants to _feel_ it, wants the pain and the stretch, the devastating sensation of being split open from the inside out.

“Jaehyun, baby,” Sangyeon breathes, brand-hot palms skimming reverently over Jaehyun’s tense thighs, his clenched stomach. Wandering back to trace one finger around his stretched rim, and, _oh,_ that makes Jaehyun whine.

Fully seated, Jaehyun takes a second just to inhale, exhale, enjoy the fullness. Despite the myriad aches and pains that plague his body, he hasn’t felt this good in _years._

“Fuck me,” he whispers, digging his nails in where he’s bracing himself against Sangyeon’s chest. Then, even quieter, _“please.”_

Sangyeon plants his feet on the bed and gives him what he wants.

Jaehyun runs his fingertips over the raised, raw scratches on Sangyeon’s back. He likes seeing his mark, always has. He thinks for a second that Sangyeon has fallen asleep, but then he shifts and turns his head, half-lidded eyes catching on Jaehyun’s bruised hips, his reddened thighs. There’s a lazy hunger there, an almost-fondness that’s at once familiar to Jaehyun — the face of his husband of eight years, the man he’s slept beside for even longer than that — and something new, something unrestrained and finally exposed, something _real._

“So,” Sangyeon starts, voice low and hoarse and fucked-out, “what happens now?”

“I think,” Jaehyun says slowly, “one of us has to die.”

Sangyeon catches Jaehyun’s hand. Kisses his fingertips.

“And then?”

Jaehyun grins. “And then we go back to Colombia.”

**Author's Note:**

> comments/kudos always appreciated!
> 
> find me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/dopaminekeeper)! 18+ only pls


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